Man v. Virus

Last Tuesday I picked Gianna up from school at noon due to a stomach ailment...apparently she puked all over the audiology booth when they were re-MAPing her.

She puked once more at home and then took a giant nap. Upon arising, she begged to infect all her friends at her weekly Atrium class at the Catholic Montessori School. I said, "No, ye shall rest and recover and not pass this scourge to anyone else." Then Brad took her out for ice cream. I am a prophet reviled in my own time.

Fast-forward to Thursday night, whereupon I was struck with the stomach plague. By Friday morning I couldn't make it across the room without feeling like I was going to pass out. I had to call in reinforcements--Maureen to take the G to school and my mother, up from the Lex, to handle the Doms--while I languished in bed.

It was rough. The stomach cramps...they were bad. Very bad. Plus puking, etc. The next morning (Saturday for those playing along at home) Brad awoke to sure signs that he, too, had succumbed. By Sunday night it seemed all was well. There had been recuperation and a lot a lot of Cat in the Hat Knows A Lot About That (thanks Netflix.) I was certain that we were in the clear, and that Dominic had emerged unscathed.

Not so. He began to vomit at approximately 8:38 pm and continued heartily until about 3 am. The child is clearly a genius; he quickly learned to say "need bowl" before puking and thus saved me a lot of laundry.

I just re-read that last sentence. We mothers are an odd species, to be so bizarrely proud of the inner workings of our offspring. You must understand, though, the import of laundry reduction. One of the most unfortunate parts of a stomach virus in small children is the amount of laundry that gets generated. Kids will puke anywhere. They don't try to make it to a sink or a toilet. They puke on their un-washable pillows and their duvet covers and dry-clean only king-sized comforters.

My weekend of rest was effectively undone by this situation, and as I held the black plastic bowl for my poor son, I cursed all the monies I have spent on Trader Joe's Organic Whole Milk French Vanilla Yogurt. What good is allowing Dominic to single-handedly consume $2.99 of pro-biotics every.day if he's just going to puke like the rest of us? They ought to give me my money back. I realize now I was a bit over-wrought.

Despite the battle of the night, my little warrior arose at his normal 6 am hour demanding the potty and "read a book now Mama." I thought he was kidding. But no, all semblance of his illness was gone. What had taken Brad and I days to overcome was already a distant memory to Dominic. No trace of illness remained. It was a Lenten Miracle. And that is the end of my story.

The Hair, Part 2

We knew the day would come. The Hair would become this:

  

And drastic measures would have to be taken.

 

But first we had to build up his strength. Homemade whole wheat basil pasta with homemade meatballs and sauce. And yea, I'm bragging because I blew up my entire kitchen to make this stuff and it has to be worth it. 

 this tasted as amazing as it looks.

  Then we had to do one last round of Hockey Hair.

We called in a professional, because that's what we needed.

Excellent reason to nurse your toddler #1,586,789...keeps them nice and still for a haircut.

Mullet No More!

Got Laundry?

Dominic does. He better get a-foldin' if he wants to go the pool later.

Ballin' On A Budget

There's couponing, and extreme couponing, and memorizing unit prices, and making spread sheets and whatever. Then, there's me. I don't buy stuff that has coupons and I can't memorize numbers because I hate them, and spread sheets.....well, I don't really even know where Microsoft Excel is on the computer. Plus, I'm a pretty lazy person. Instead, I've come up with some really stupid, really ridiculous ways to save money that probably don't help the bottom line in the end so much as they just make me feel like I am saving money. Today, I share with you my secrets.

-you should always accept left-overs from family members. Especially if they come in tupperware. Especially if the family member isn't expecting the return of the tupperware. Consider it your stimulus package. A bail-out, if you will.

-don't buy those silly bag clips. Those things cost like, $3!!! Instead, hoard twistie ties. Impose serious crack-downs on the people who foolishly try to throw these fantastic pieces of plastic in the trash.

-I haven't purchased plastic baggies in a long time. For one thing, I keep forgetting to put them on my list, and for another, they cost MONEY! Sure, I could scour my neighbor's newspaper for a coupon and somehow end up getting Kroger to pay ME for buying plastic baggies, but that's not as fun. What's more fun is to reach for the baggies when you need to, say, preserve the last two pieces of bacon, and realize, "Dangit. Forgot to get baggies again." But no matter. You've got all that free tupperware. Then you end up with stupid situations like this:

 because your children have stolen all the normal sized tupperware, and your spouse has left the rest of it in a moldy pile at work.

-it's important to remember that sometimes functionality has a beauty over and above actual appearance when the object in question was free.

-when a light bulb goes out, simply steal a light bulb from a lesser-used light, and replace. Ok, so this tip doesn't actually save you money but it will postpone the purchase of new light bulbs, which creates money you can use to buy more bacon.

-another thing I hoard is brown paper bags, especially the ones from Trader Joe's, because they have those nifty handles. This is your wrapping paper. Stick a bag in a shredder, and this is your Easter basket grass. So green. So cheap!

-speaking of wrapping paper, never, under any circumstances, should you throw away gift bags. These need to be hoarded as well. It's perfectly acceptable to use a bright pink "It's a girl!" bag for your father-in-law's birthday present. He understands, you see, because he's been putting up with your ridiculousness for a long time now.

-are you out of soap? Don't buy more, make more!! Don't worry, I'm not talking about the people who actually make soap, and know about saponification and chemistry and crap. I'm talking about screwing off the lid to the soap dispenser, adding some water, and giving it a good shake. Voila! Soap. Works well for shampoo and conditioner, too.

I made this soap!

-change is not real money. Save your change in a jar and raid it when you want to buy stuff that is not really in your budget, like Starbucks coffee or Reese's Peanut Butter Cup Blizzards. It's like it never happened.

I realize that putting off the purchase of light bulbs and making watery soap is not making me rich over here. That's ok. I'm just tryin' to make a dollar out of fifty. You know. And amuse myself.

This obviously has nothing to with saving money. It's just funny.

Need A Lawn Boy?

I know a guy.....

When Did This Happen?

It's amazing. When did this:

Become this:

And when did this:

Morph into this:

Every parent marvels over the growth of their children. "He's just getting so big!" They exclaim. And, "I can't believe it, I feel like just yesterday she was a newborn!" This morning, as I watched Gianna dress herself for school and Dominic fed himself Gianna's left over oatmeal, I couldn't help thinking to myself for the millionth time, "Who are these big children? And when did they get here? Where are my babies?"

A few months ago I read Sheldon Vanauken's A Severe Mercy  on the recommendation of Maureen over at Little Stay at Home Momma. In it, the author shares correspondence with C.S Lewis during his conversion to Christianity. One of my favorite letters from Lewis regards his logical proof that there is some other, higher place for which we are all intended. He says,


"We are so little reconciled to time that we are even astonished at it. “How he’s grown!” we exclaim, “How time flies!” as though the universal form of our experience were again and again a novelty. It is as strange as if a fish were repeatedly surprised at the wetness of water. And that would be strange indeed; unless of course the fish were destined to become, one day, a land animal."

Of course, that higher place where there will be no time as we know it now, is heaven. How wonderful that in the swiftly growing bodies and minds of our children we are reminded that we are just visitors here; that we are working for the Kingdom.  In moments of sadness or nostalgia over our no-longer-a-baby babies, may we remember that we are destined to become, one day, inhabitants of Heaven.

The Post Where You Learn Everything You Need To Know About Me

About a week after my son was born on my bathroom floor, my mother and I packed up the kiddos for our first trip to the family doctor. I’d never met him face-to-face…a slightly awkward phone conversation where delayed vaccines and the safety of homebirth was discussed was about the only interaction I’d had with the guy.  Through a series of well-timed events I had found myself living in a new city and state, gigantically pregnant, and in need of a new family doctor. He came highly recommended by our new friends as a good, Catholic man who obeyed the Church’s teachings and didn’t prescribe contraceptives. 

As we rushed about taking the then 2.5 year old Gianna to the potty and grabbing extra pairs of underwear and wipes and burp clothes and bags of Annie’s Organic Cheddar Bunnies I told my mother, “I just hope this guy doesn’t think we’re totally crazy. I mean…we kind of are, but mostly we know what we’re doing…..generally I’ve got it together. I have to make a good impression! I need to off-set our weirdness with my organizational skills, my charm, my sheer grit and common sense…” 

I should have known I was quickly heading toward disaster---I was feeling far, far too confident and in control for things to continue to go smoothly. As my mother steered my sticker-laden Volvo wagon through the slushy streets I kept up a non-stop cheerleading session regarding my mothering skills…. “I am SO prepared for this appointment! I have ALL our paperwork…..all the charts from the birth, all the paperwork proving that I already did the metabolic screens, he can’t NOT love us! Even though we’re weird and we birth at home….look how prepared I am!” 

When we arrived at the office (and only 5 minutes late!) we were ushered into an exam room where I boasted about my potent breast milk (“He gained 10 ounces in 4 days!”)  and thrust all the papers at the nurse. She perused them without comment until she arrived at the narrow strip of paper that proved I had already sent Dominic’s blood in to be tested for all the metabolic diseases. 

“What is this?” She queried. Oh, I’d school her…. “I had the metabolic testing done at 4 days. It’s been sent to the lab, that is the proof! I don’t even need that copy, you can keep it!!” 

The doctor arrived and promptly exclaimed over my darling children. He, too, riffled through the stack of papers before pausing over the metabolic screen receipt. 

“Um….what is this?” 

“Oh! That is the proof that I already did the metabolic screen! I had it done at four days, I had someone come to the house…..you can keep that paper….I don’t even need it….he gained 10 ounces in four days…I managed to fold some laundry this morning…” When I get nervous I babble. Especially when the person I am talking to just sits there…..silently….staring…..until finally…

“Yes, well….This …looks…like a speeding ticket.” 

I teach my kids that we don’t just take things from people, but you can believe I took that paper back…snatched it, as it were. Then I did what any good, organized wife does.

I blamed it on my husband.

“Oh that’s not mine! It’s my husband’s! I’m not sure…where the metabolic screen is….the two papers look shockingly alike…..”

At that point, I had to give up my dream of appearing like the perfect mom I am not and just be myself. My mother was laughing, Doms was nursing in that newborn-milk-spraying-everywhere kind of way, and Gianna was methodically licking all the tongue depressors.  Now was the time to sum things up and make a quick getaway.

 I was trying to make a good impression, but here I am. This is me. Mostly, I’m late a lot, I’m constantly getting myself into ridiculous situations, and I really like to laugh.  I have no idea what I’m doing, but I figure if I just make it look good, the outward signs of grace will transfer internally, clean my kitchen, get me out the door on time, and  make my home the kind of place where there will be saints…or at least, the absence of parole officers.

Welcome to the fray!